


Halloween Accidents

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [17]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Undercover Missions, mistaken kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-01-15 19:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21258341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Anonymous requested: "I wish you would write a fic where Darcy unexpectedly runs into Brock while he's undercover and to keep her from speaking and blowing his cover he kisses her."I made it Halloween





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *I own nothing!

“Why did you convince me to put on a Halloween costume again?” Jane said, sighing heavily. She had to yell-sigh over the loud music in the restaurant they were in, but Darcy laughed anyway. People in costumes roamed around the nearby bar. It was rowdy. People from the bar were spilling over into the restaurant’s tables.

“Fun, goober!” she yelled. “You’ve gotten pale from being indoors. And you make a great Princess Leia,” she told Jane, smiling at Jane’s elegant white gown. She’s dragged Jane out with some of the R&D folks, who’d left a few minutes before.

“If one more schmuck asks me where my bikini is, I’ll hit ‘em,” Jane grumbled.

“See! That’s very Leia. You could literally be related to her!” Darcy yelled. “I gotta pee,” she added, standing up. Jane nodded. Darcy had to elbow her way through the crowd, past a guy dressed as Jon Snow who leered at her calves. She was wearing a Reese’s Cup costume over leggings and sweater. It was comfy. He made to grab at her, but another guy in a homemade Hulk costume blocked his way and threatened to smash him. Darcy glared at Jon Snow and then thanked the Hulk, before slipping into a too-crowded ladies’ room. 

As she left to return to Jane, she turned a corner and then realized the person sitting in the corner booth of the restaurant was another of their SHIELD coworkers. That Rumlow guy. She should say hi, right? It wasn’t that she had a tiny crush on Brock Rumlow and wanted to see what Halloween costume he could possibly be wearing. As she was threading through the tables, someone spoke to her, mistaking her for a friend. Darcy realized that Rumlow had seen her when she looked up and he’d turned his head. She gave him a little wave and began moving again, then realized he was grimacing. What is that face about, she thought? She lost him momentarily in the crush of bodies. She was moving towards his table when the group in front of her parted and she practically ran into Rumlow’s chest. “Oh, h---,” Darcy began awkwardly. But the rest of her greeting was cut off by Rumlow grabbing her face and kissing her. Very intently. Darcy gave in to the urge to melt against him, leaning heavily. She chased his mouth, pressing her tongue against his lips. They were great lips. That seemed to spur him to deepen the kiss. His fingers gripped her hair. Darcy made an involuntary sound of pleasure when he sucked on her top lip. She’d sort of puddled into his arms when he pulled away a fraction and then leaned his cheek against hers. His stubble was scratchy. He smelled amazing, she thought, sighing. She kissed his jawline, until the hand in her hair tightened and he held her still.

“Mission,” he rasped into her ear. “Don’t say my name and get the fuck outta here.” Darcy was so startled, she almost fell over. She stared at him. 

“Wha--?” she stammered.

“Get out of here,” he said again, voice low and gravelly. She nodded, seesawing between mortification and lust. She detached herself, turned around and stumbled back towards Jane. Her knees felt like jelly. By the time she got back to their table, the full weight of it had hit her. Panicked sweat was happening under her Halloween costume. 

“Everything okay?” Jane said.

“Nope,” Darcy choked out. “C’mon, we gotta go.” As they walked to Jane’s car, she spotted the SHIELD van parked several blocks away. That made her sweat harder. They probably had audio and video. 

“Why is your lipstick all smeared?” Jane said suddenly. Darcy’s hand was on the door handle.

“I’m going to die of embarrassment,” Darcy whispered, as they got in. “Drive away slowly.”

“Oookay,” Jane said. “What is going on?”

“Rumlow’s in there,” Darcy explained. “On some sort of mission--”

“What?” Jane interjected. Darcy waved her arms.

“That’s not the embarrassing part. The mortifying part is that I was walking over to say hi, he got up to stop me with a hello kiss, and I thought he was for-real kissing me, Jane!” Darcy said, ending in a slightly mournful wail. 

“A hello kiss?” Jane said.

“He was probably aiming for the cheek,” Darcy said. She swallowed. “I leaned in.”

“Oh,” Jane said. “Shit.”

“It’s a real shitfuckdamn scenario,” Darcy said grimly.

“So,  _ that’s _ what happened to your lipstick?” Jane said slowly. She giggled. “Oh my God!”

“I need a new name and a new job and some hair bleach,” Darcy muttered. “I’m changing my name to Tammy and moving to Tallahassee.”

“Tallahassee Tammy?” Jane said, still giggling. “She definitely kisses her coworkers--”

“Help me,” Darcy whispered. “I put my tongue in his mouth.”

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

On November fourth, Darcy was washing her hands in the ladies’ restroom at SHIELD when a voice came over the in-house PA system. “Tammy Tallahassee to zone C, Tammy Tallahassee to zone C,” a voice said.

“Dammit, Jane,” Darcy grumbled to her reflection. This was Jane’s idea of a joke. It meant there was a delivery for them. Jane had roped in Cameron Klein, Sharon Carter, and even Captain America hisself into calling Darcy “Tammy”--without telling them why, thank goodness. Darcy was feeling rather miffed about the whole thing. Well, miffed and sweaty. She’d gone into the bathroom to hide in a stall and wipe the sweat off her belly. She had a staff meeting this afternoon. Brock Rumlow was certain to be at the staff meeting. By that circular logic, she had a meeting with Brock Rumlow in two hours. Her body--remembering the kiss--had started making a solely-sex-appropriate amount of sweat at six am this morning. Darcy was overheated. Jane has been teasing her about being all pink today. She was probably going to stroke out if he said anything to her. And her brain had been inventing an alarming number of possible conversation scenarios. What if he snickered at her? She might die of humiliation on the spot. Or waste away like a nineteenth century heroine. Was consumption a real disease? She would need to find out, just in case of social rejection and subsequent wasting disease. Like Marianne whatsherface and that Willoughby schmuck in the Emma Thompson movie. Jane had been telling her to think positively, but Jane had snagged Thor. Jane’s frame of reference was skewed. And if Rumlow flirted with her? Darcy gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Would she be able to make words? She was totally unprepared to make words, she realized. Darcy couldn’t dare think positively for herself--not after the Halloween Humiliation. Which is what she’d been calling it mentally. The PA system squawked her fake name a second time and Darcy rolled her eyes. 

She was sweating again by the time the staff meeting happened. Following Jane into the large room, she didn’t know where to look. The STRIKE teams usually sat on the right, by the door. Darcy glanced over. No Rumlow. She felt a weird pang of sadness. He wasn’t there? Maybe they were on a mission, she thought glumly, sitting on the left with Jane. They were a few rows back, next to Cameron Klein, who smiled brightly. “Jane,” he said. “Darcy.”

“Don’t say Tammy!” Darcy said.

“I keep meaning to ask, what’s that about?” he said.

“I once sang, um, Tammy Wynette in a bar. In New Mexico,” Darcy lied. It was the only Tammy she could think of. 

“Tammy Wynette,” Jane chortled.

_ “Stand by Your Man?” _ Cam asked. But Darcy’s attention had been stolen. Brock Rumlow had just walked into the room, encircled by his team. He’d walked in alertly, torso moving forward, arms slightly extended, gaze forward. It was all Darcy could do not to say _ wow. _ He moved so well. Gracefully, but lethally. Also, he looked amazing in those tight, black tactical tees. Arm muscles for days, she thought dreamily, remembering how he’d touched her. Those fingers in her hair. She raised her eyes to his face, but he’d stopped to speak to Hill and wasn’t looking in her direction. She had to drag her eyes away from his mouth when she realized she was blushing and staring. Cam was speaking to her when Darcy came back to Earth.

“Huh?” she said.

“You like country music?” Cam asked.

“Some!” Darcy said, panicking as Rumlow walked in their direction. She looked at her lap, took a breath, and tried to pull herself together to make words and stuff. He was going to stop, she realized. He was going to stop and talk to her. He was going to sto….he kept walking. Darcy was staring, shocked, when he moved up the steps towards the back of the auditorium and glanced back towards her, grimacing. He’d done it again. That look. It wasn’t a warm and fuzzy look. It was more of a _ gee, I’d really rather not see your face. _She deflated, feeling intensely sad and uncomfortable. 

“You okay?” Jane said quietly, once the meeting was underway.

“Yeah,” Darcy whispered. This was a lie, of course. She stayed in her seat for a bit after Maria Hill’s concluding remarks, hoping he meant to talk to her afterwards, but he slipped away without stopping again. She didn’t realize it until she saw his back vanishing in the doorway. 

“Darce,” Jane said, as they walked back to the lab.

“Don’t,” Darcy said. “And please tell people to stop calling me Tammy, for freaking sake.” 

“Okay,” Jane said. She tried to cheer Darcy up, but Darcy was wallowing and a little pissed off--at the situation, at Rumlow because he hadn’t wanted to speak to her, at Jane, at herself for being so pathetic, and pissed at the universe in general. This feeling of out-of-sortsness was not helped by the dry, brief email she got from Rumlow at five o’clock. He said he was sorry for the “unfortunate incident” on Halloween, that it had been to maintain mission cover, and he apologized a second time. He signed off by saying he hoped she had a nice weekend. Darcy read it aloud to Jane. Jane cringed.

“Oh, no,” she said to Darcy. “I don’t understand?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve been kissed and kissed off,” Darcy said. “So much for positivity.” All her anxiety had curdled to unhappiness in her stomach.

***

“Jack, goddammit, stop leaving fucking Reese’s Cups on my desk,” Brock said angrily, as they got on the elevator to leave SHIELD that night. He’d spotted the third Reese’s of the week. They kept showing up on his desk. Or in his locker. He already felt irritable. The jokes were making it worse.

“What?” Jack said with mock innocence. “I thought those were your favorite chocolates, mate.”

“You know I don’t eat no fucking chocolate,” Rumlow grumbled, pressing the elevator button with more than usual intensity. He glared at Jack. Jack knew how he felt about Darcy, the Australian asshole. Everybody on STRIKE knew. He couldn’t hide it anymore. People had seen the video now and it was impossible to deny.

“Really? Not even Reese’s?” Jack began mockingly, but then abruptly shut his mouth as the doors opened and Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis paused on the elevator threshold. Rumlow’s stomach sank. 

_ Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. _His internal monologue was a string of panicked swearing. Luckily, Jack spoke. 

“Ladies,” Jack said politely. 

“Gentlemen,” Jane Foster said sharply. Rumlow nodded, then looked away. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Darcy. She was standing in front of him now, smelling like some warm, buttery vanilla perfume that made him think of Christmas. His eyes traced down her back, noting the tension in her shoulders. He had been smitten with Foster’s assistant since they’d met a few months before. She might hide behind her glasses and jokey sweaters to avoid calling attention to her amazing body, but Darcy Lewis was _ exactly _ his type. A curvy brunette with a knack for sarcasm. Smart, funny, great mouth on her. In all senses of the fucking word, he thought, miserable. He tried to breathe normally, thinking about that lush mouth, ignoring the jolt of arousal in his body. His goddamn dick had been what got him in this situation. He’d just meant to stop her from saying his real name in front of their contact for blackmarket Chitauri guns. But he’d clearly lost his fucking mind, impulsively kissing her instead. It was embarrassing to realize how out of control he’d been. On a fucking mission, no less. He was surprised she hadn’t reported him to HR, the way he’d put his hands all over her. Brock had been waiting for the call. He vividly remembered her horrified, shocked look when he’d managed to get control of himself. It made him upset and itchy, so close to her now. So close. If he leaned forward, he could bury his nose in her hair. He’d put his hands in her hair, hadn’t he? Brock repressed a sigh. He’d wrecked any chance with her, he knew. He’d seen the way she looked at him during the staff meeting, too. Like she was nervous he’d grab her again. He’d probably frightened the hell out of her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. It sort of spilled out of him. She turned, looking startled. 

“What?” she said. The elevator doors opened.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. His voice was a rasp. He had trouble talking around her, for God’s sake. She was still staring at him and frowning.

“C’mon, Darce,” Foster said, towing her off the elevator. Darcy gave him a strange look over her shoulder. 

“What in bloody hell was that?” Jack said, as the doors closed.

“She hates me,” Brock said grimly. “Let’s go drink.”

“All right then,” Jack said, after an awkward pause. They went down a level to the basement where the STRIKE agents parked their cars. Brock tossed Jack his keys.

“You drive,” he told the Australian. 

“Sure, mate,” Jack said. “I shouldn’t have put those Reese’s on your desk. Bad prank,” he admitted.

“I’ll live,” Brock said, unable to keep the note of bitterness out of his voice. Brock was four shots in at the bar when he started to laugh. 

“What is it?” Jack said, looking alarmed. There was an edge of hysteria to the sound.

“That is the only woman in the world who could have me fucking whipped,” Brock said wryly. His laughter had been ironic. He looked at Jack. “I’d let her keep me on a short fucking leash. And she cannot fucking stand me. Can you believe that shit?” Jack made a sympathetic, if inchoate noise and nodded.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of this fic, Darcy is wearing Coty Vanilla Musk, which smells like yummy, buttery, marshmallow-y toasted vanilla


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Darcy moped about Rumlow into early November. Somewhere around mid-month, her SHIELD office phone rang. “Hello?” she said, setting down her travel mug with a clunk. She pulled a face when a little sloshed over the rim. “Lab nine-three-zero-eight.” That was Jane’s official address.

“It’s me,” Natasha Romanoff said on the line.

“Hi, Nat,” Darcy said. “How are you? How was Kiev?”

“Who told you I was in Kiev?” she said. 

“My sources are confidential,” Darcy said.

“It was Bruce, wasn’t it?” Natasha said. She and Bruce had a...thing. Most people found them incomprehensible as a couple, but Darcy thought they were individually and collectively adorable. She shipped it. It was a smidge like finding out Clark Gable and Joan Crawford had had a years long, on and off affair. Nat was the cool, unflappable Gable to Bruce’s brainy, sensitive, and sometimes bitchy (when Hulked out) Joan, obvs.

“I couldn’t possibly say,” Darcy said. “Do you need the Jane brain?” 

“No, I’m calling for you, actually--” Nat began.

“Ooooh, me?” Darcy said. 

“--because I’m organizing your blind date for tonight,” Nat finished.

“You are?” Darcy said, almost dropping the phone. “My what?”

“I have someone who is interested in you. Tremendously interested,” Nat said. “And it seems like a shame for you to sit at home organizing Jane’s notes when you could be having fun.”

“I agree,” Darcy said. She needed to get over this Rumlow thing. Nat told her the time and place. “Ooohh, Nat, that’s swank.”

“Do you think I would neglect ambiance and good lighting? For a first date?” Nat said.

“Of course not. You do everything brilliantly,” Darcy said, writing down her instructions. Nat hung up with a final message.

“Don’t be nervous, he’s completely infatuated with you,” she said. 

“Okay!” Darcy said. She’d hung up the phone when she realized that she’d forgotten to ask his name. “Whoops,” she said.

“What happened?” Jane said.

“Nat’s set me up on a date with a mystery man,” Darcy said. 

“That’s nice,” Jane said, clearly not paying attention.

“I don’t know his name and you’ve got dry erase on your elbow,” Darcy added.

“That’s nice,” she repeated. Darcy giggled. 

She was humming to herself when she arrived at the restaurant and sat down. “Oh God,” she said in a low murmur. “Darcy, stop. You cannot hum _ Moulin Rouge _theme songs on a blind date, he’ll think you’re a lunatic. Unless he’s Ewan McGregor. Which wouldn’t be so bad…” she processed out loud, then shut her mouth abruptly. Was Ewan MacGregor single? He was definitely Scottish. And dreamy. She was pleasantly daydreaming about a set of circumstances that might’ve led Nat to set her up with a famous star--alien invasion at a Tony Stark party? Robot incident on a movie set?--when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“I’m, uh, waiting for somebody. A woman?” Brock Rumlow was telling the hostess. Darcy ducked down in her booth.

“Shit, shit,” she muttered. She listened as they sat him several booths away. She hadn’t seen him since that elevator...whatever it was. She did not want to see him while she was on a date with someone else. It would be awkward. Luckily, he was sitting facing the door, his back to her now. But she couldn't just leave. The problem was they were too close together. That was the problem. But she could switch tables! She looked around the restaurant. It was one of those steampunk industrial places with dangling lightbulbs, metal accents, and weird clock parts bolted to the wall. But there was a narrow, spiraling metal staircase leading to a barely visible balcony on the other side of the restaurant. She could hide from him up there and still see her date. Darcy made a split-second decision. 

She was sneaking up those stairs. 

Hunched over, she snagged her menu, slid out of the booth--keeping her back to Rumlow--and scurried towards the stairs. She made it there, seized the rail, and stepped up. The stairs wobbled precariously. That seemed like a building code problem, but Darcy was worried Rumlow would see her face, so she hurried. Her feet thudded up the flimsy staircase. It shook slightly. Still--

“Oh fuck,” Darcy said. She was sixteen steps up and staring at a faux balcony with no visible space behind it when someone called out. 

“Ma’am! Ma’am!” It was a waiter. “Those stairs are decorative!”

“Darcy?” Rumlow called out at the same time.

“Shit,” Darcy said, half-turning. The staircase swayed a little. “Nope,” she said out loud. She grasped the railing closest to where it bolted into the wall.

“Please don’t go any further!” the waiter called, sounding panicked. “They’re refurbished! They aren’t meant to support weight!” He was somewhere behind her, at the base of the stairs. “Okay,” Darcy said slowly. She’d kinda frozen. She was afraid of heights. “I’m going to stay right here.” Rumlow got up and joined him, walking under Darcy’s feet. His expression was alarmed.

“What are you doing?” Rumlow said, voice deadly serious.

“I needed to climb the--the thing,” she said, brain not working. “At the time, it seemed important.”

“You really don’t,” the waiter said. “It’s _ dangerous.” _He’d whispered the last part to Rumlow, from behind her. But she heard him.

“No shit,” Rumlow said. Then he pitched his voice up, so she could hear him better. “Darcy, can you step backwards for me?”

“Ummm,” Darcy said. “I’m a little stuck.”

“Stuck?” the waiter said, horrified.

“Mentally. Heights,” she said. “I’m scared of heights.” When she looked down to the floor below, she saw nervous faces on the entrance side of the ground floor. A man who’d just come into the restaurant--he was her date, obviously--was staring, mouth open. “Hi!” Darcy said. He lifted his hand in a slow wave.

“Hello,” he said. 

“Darcy,” Rumlow called, making her jump.

“Can you not _ do _that?!” she yelled over her own shoulder, clinging more tightly to the railing. “You people really should have warning signs. A rope,” she added. “I’ve seen broken movie theater seats that were marked better than this--”

“Sweetheart, let’s work on climbing down, okay?” Rumlow said.

“I can’t,” she said. “My hands are all sweaty.” She looked at her date and yelled down. “I’m really sorry! I’m not normally like this!” 

“It’s okay?” the guy said. He was blonde and very sweet-looking. Completely her type. Nat had done well--

“How much do you weigh?” Rumlow yelled up.

“Oh my God,” Darcy said. “Seriously? One-thirty-five!” she yelled.

“One hundred and thirty five pounds?” he yelled back, sounding doubtful.

“Okay, one-forty-three,” she hissed down. “Can you be quiet in front of him?”

“Who?” the waiter said.

“I need your tallest ladder,” Rumlow said, clearly giving orders. “Are those beams solid?” He was using his STRIKE voice.

“I have no idea,” the waiter said. “I just work here part-time.”

“Darcy, I’m going to my car for equipment, I don’t want you to move--” Rumlow began. 

“We should call nine-one-one,” the waiter said abruptly. That sounded complicated. Her date was frowning up at her. People had begun to gather. The idea of being rescued by Rumlow or an eye-rolling fireman--like she was a cat stuck in a tree--did not appeal to Darcy. She had a burst of courage.

“I’m going to do this!” she called down to her date. He nodded, wide-eyed. She turned, releasing the handrails so she could face Rumlow and the waiter.

“Fuck,” Rumlow yelled, as the staircase rocked with her movement. 

“Oh my God!” the waiter said. Darcy grabbed either side of the railing and looked down at them. Both men looked sick. 

“I can do this,” she said to herself. She picked up one foot, the staircase swayed, and her boot-clad foot hovered in the air---until she chickened out. “I can’t do this.” She put her foot back down, then slid slowly down into a crouch. The staircase wobbled when her ass touched the metal tread, but she felt more stable.

“Darcy--” Rumlow began.

“Shut up, I’m thinking,” she said, sweating profusely. When she was little, Darcy had often been frightened of stairs. As a toddler, her cousins had made fun of her for butt-scooting down them instead of walking down. “I got up here, right?” she yelled down.

“What are you doing?” Rumlow said.

“Humiliating myself more in front of my date,” she said, slowly scooting down the next step. “One down!” she said.

“Goddammit, be careful,” Rumlow scolded. She tried not to focus on how ashen he looked. She had other things to concentrate on. Like getting down each metal step, crab style. It was especially tricky because the staircase had such a tight, narrow spiral. She moved slowly. It took forever. She was seven or eight steps from the bottom, hovering at the space where the spiral opened up when Rumlow grabbed her and hauled her roughly into his arms.

“Ow!” she yelled. One of her elbows had whacked the railing.

“You okay?” he said, clutching her.

“Yeah,” she said, feeling her heart race at this much proximity to him.

“You really shouldn’t have been up there,” the restaurant manager said, having come over to fret about liability. 

“That staircase was un-fucking-marked, you’ll be lucky if she doesn’t sue you,” Rumlow said, so fiercely that the manager looked frightened. “Bring her some goddamn free food, idiot.”

“Excuse me?” the manager said.

“He’s a federal agent,” the waiter said. 

“And I play poker with the guy who does DC building codes, you sonofabitch,” Rumlow said. That seemed to settle the dispute.

“Decorative, my ass,” Darcy said, as he carried her to an empty booth. Rumlow chuckled. Darcy looked around. The crowd had dispersed during her slow butt-slide to safety. “Where’d he go?” she said. Her date had disappeared.

“Who?” Rumlow said, setting her down gently in the cushiest, biggest booth. 

“The guy I was talking to,” she said, sighing. “That’s just typical for me. Great.”

“Did you know him?” Rumlow said.

“No, not really,” Darcy said. She didn’t even know his name, after all. Rumlow looked confused.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” Rumlow asked. 

“Her head?” the waiter asked. He had followed them, still looking nervous.

“My head is fine!” Darcy insisted.

“Would you like to know the specials?” he said. 

“Yes,” Rumlow said, unzipping his black SHIELD jacket. “Get her a regular Coke--”

“I drink diet,” Darcy began.

“You’ve had a shock,” he said. “You need the sugar.”

“I’m not a hundred!” Darcy shot back.

“We’ve all seen you climb down stairs, so that ship has sailed, sweetheart,” he said, looking amused. She really wanted to smack him. Or kiss him. It was hard to tell, at this level of sexual and personal frustration.

“You--you--” she sputtered, eyes torn away from his face to his forearms and biceps. Those were, uh, really good, especially this close. Even the ropey veins on his forearms were somehow appealing. Damn it, she thought. Unfair! Totally unfair. Hot people shouldn’t be allowed out in the world to witness your worst moments. He half turned and she peered at the tattoos etched up the backs of his arms. Let her eyes trail down his back to his ass. _ Oooh, _ went her brain. She’d kissed this guy? _ She’d kissed this guy. _

“Are you just going to stand there or does this place actually have specials?” Brock said to the waiter.

“Don’t be mean,” Darcy scolded, still eyeing Rumlow’s ass.

“Uh, yeah, it’s the chicken,” the waiter said. Darcy sighed. Poor waiter.

“The chicken what?” Rumlow said. Darcy reached over to the tiny chalkboard on the table.

“Marsala,” she supplied.

“Thank you,” the waiter said. “Greg. That’s my name. I’m Greg.”

“Thank you, Greg,” Darcy said politely. Giving up her AWOL date--Rumlow, despite his yummy arms and pretty mouth and the places she’d like to put her hands on, clearly wasn’t into her--Darcy rewarded herself with off-menu pappardelle in butter. Simple as fuck, but she was stressed.

“You’re getting butter noodles?” Rumlow said.

“Yes,” she said. “Can I get parmesan, Greg?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I can’t believe that’s what you’re eating,” Rumlow said. Darcy shrugged. He was clearly in a mood, though. As they ate, Rumlow asked all kinds of weird questions: where she was from, her degree, her favorite London places, how she liked her work, how she liked DC, where she’d go on vacation. It was like a rapid-fire interrogation. Totally weird.

“Where I’d run off to, if I could?” Darcy repeated, wondering if he wanted to crack Jane’s laptop password security questions. Or maybe all SHIELD agents were nosy? He must’ve realized he was questioning her a lot, because he looked abashed.

“Sorry, uh,” he said, “I didn't know you’d be here--”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, thinking, _ same, same. _

“When I looked up and saw you stuck up there, it was like, boom, I could talk,” he said, smiling in a way that made her ovaries light up like Vegas. Her slot machine was definitely running, too. “--this problem? But not tonight, it was the adrenaline, you know,” Rumlow said. Darcy had no idea what he was talking about--she must’ve missed something. Her mouth was making a lot of saliva. Also, she couldn’t stop looking at his mouth. _ Focus, _she scolded herself, swallowing. ‘So, what do you do when you’re not hanging onto a staircase?” Rumlow said. “Like after this?”

“Oh, nothing fun. I’ll probably do Jane’s conference proposals and watch _ Great British Bake-Off _, I’m boring,” she joked. She could talk normally, she told herself. Just make sentences! She looked up and realized he had frowned.

“Yeah?” he said. 

“Uh-huh. I'm really boring aside from my accidents, Elves, stuff like that,” Darcy said. “Just a regular person who answers a lot of emails.” Her phone rang. It was Jane. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to take this,” she said. “Hey, Jane, everything okay--what?” Darcy said. “You did not. I’ll be right there.”

“Something go wrong in the lab?” Rumlow said.

“Nope, she just took the Metro home and forgot her house keys. But I’ve got extras, so I’ll go over and let her in,” Darcy said, reaching for her wallet. She’d eaten her weight in butter noodles, she could let Rumlow finish his chicken in peace, she thought. “Where are you, wallet?” she said aloud, digging in her bag.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said suddenly, reaching over to touch her arm. “I got this.” They both looked at his hand for a second, like it was a grenade. 

“Oh. You’re so tan,” Darcy said, brain fritzing again. Then she wrestled control back. “I mean, thank you,” she said. “For dinner and running point on the whole cat-in-a-tree rescue operation,” she said awkwardly. She laughed, but it was weird-sounding, because her body was tense. He was so warm. And his fingers were slightly calloused. She could easily imagine those hands on her skin. She looked down again, flushing. Rumlow withdrew his hand.

“No--no problem,” he said, “we should do it again sometime.” That was obviously a politeness. She was standing up to leave. 

“Oh, yeah,” Darcy said, assuming that was a joke. “Maybe you could rescue me from a ledge.”

“I would,” he said, oddly serious. 

“Bye!” she chirped nervously.

“Goodnight, Darcy,” he said, expression strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, at last chapter: surely, they cannot miscommunicate more than this?  
My brain gremlins: *cackling* yeeeessss, they can!
> 
> Loosely based on this prompt, but different: https://yespumpkindoodlesthings.tumblr.com/post/189913684103/write-it-motherfuckers-person-a-i-need-to


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“I do not understand. What happened?” Nat asked her. For about the third time.

“It was awful!” Darcy said into the phone. Natasha had difficulty understanding Darcy when she called to ask how the date went. “I’m telling you, it was terrible. I’ve never scared a man away so fast in my life,” Darcy said. “I’m sure the sight of me butt-scooting down those stairs traumatized the poor man.”

“He was traumatized?” Nat said, sounding skeptical. “Because you...butt scooted? Darcy, what is butt scooting?”

“It’s when you go down stairs on your ass. You never did that as a kid?” Darcy asked.

“No,” Nat said.

“Oh. Well, Rumlow sort of rescued me--”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then I had butter noodles, Rumlow asked me personal security questions--” Darcy said.

“What kind of questions?” Nat said. Her frown was audible through the phone.

“Where’d I grow up, what’s my favorite vacation spot, stuff like that? I felt like he really wanted to access Jane’s files,” Darcy joked. “Like an interrogation.” Nat sighed heavily.

“So, it was a disaster,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yup,” Darcy said. “Even for me, a really bad blind date experience.”

“Would you be willing to try again?” Nat asked, voice low. “I know he really likes you. I can give him some--well, pointers?”

“Oh, like anyone who witnessed that would be interested? Ask Rumlow, he’ll tell you exactly how embarrassing I was,” Darcy said. This guy would never be interested. Darcy remembered his cheerfully confused face as she stared down at him.

“Your attitude is very defeatist,” Nat told her. Darcy laughed.

“I’m just realistic!” she insisted. 

“What if the next one is more casual?” Nat countered.

“Okay,” Darcy said. “No stairs of death.”

Nat texted to say they were doing bar trivia the next night with some SHIELD people, would she like to come? Darcy replied back quickly; she loved bar trivia. She was wildly competitive and Jane never wanted to go with her because of the beer and yelling. But Darcy loved curly fries and yelling. She met Nat at the bar’s door. “Jane’s being a workaholic, but I’ve got all your history and lit questions covered,” she said, right off the bat. 

“All right,” Nat said smoothly. “Do not let Rumlow rattle you again.”

“What?” Darcy said. Then she realized he was sitting at the table with Clint, Sharon Carter, and Cameron Klein. “He’s here?”

“Of course,” Nat said. “He has assured me that he won’t interrogate you.”

“It’s no biggie, I’ll be fine,” Darcy said. She was totally fine, right? She was sailing happily towards the table, walking behind Nat, when it dawned on her that the only empty space was next to...Rumlow? She was so distracted, she didn’t see the person sliding back their chair at the adjoining table until she’d caught her foot on their chair leg and gone flying forward, landing on her hands and knees. She was so startled, she swore. “Shit!”

“Are you okay?” Nat, the chair mover, and Rumlow said in unison. He’d bolted to her side and helped her stand up.

“Yeah, yeah,” Darcy said, looking critically at her knees. “This happens to me all the time. Ask him--I’m crazy accident girl,” she told the mortified-looking bar patron who’d moved his chair. “But my pants survived, so it’s a win.”

“A win?” the stranger said.

“Totally, no worries,” Darcy said, trying to reassure him. People sometimes felt bad when they collided with her. “I do all my own stunts,” she said cheerfully.

“Yeah,” Rumlow said. “Come sit down.” His voice was serious.

“That stunt joke is my best joke, you could at least laugh,” Darcy said, mildly offended, as they sat down.

“I laughed!” Clint said. “You want a beer?”

“Yes, thank you,” Darcy said.

“Thanks, Barton, real helpful,” Rumlow grumbled. Darcy sighed; he was sitting really close to her and parts of her--traitor-y parts that were dumb and horny--really enjoyed it when he did that growly voice. It was sexy. She squeezed her knees together and looked at Cam and Sharon across the table. She needed, really needed, a distraction from the man sitting an inch from her hip, smelling all good and being all pretty and whatnot. She still couldn’t believe she’d kissed him. Him! She really should snag his current SHIELD file photo and hide it somewhere to tell her grandchildren when she was in the nursing home; she imagined the gasps (“Your grandma kissed this guy; he wasn’t into it, but she did kiss him.”) 

“How’s this game go?” she asked hopefully, taking off her coat. Rumlow draped it over the back of her chair. “Thanks,” Darcy said politely, determined not to stare or flirt or worse. Like drool. He had some nerve, wearing tight black t-shirts in December. Like he was moody Captain America or something. She shifted back to Klein and Carter. 

“Well, the radio station runs it--” Cam began. Rumlow put his forearm on the table, next to hers. She could literally feel his arm hairs against her own skin. _ Well, shit, _ Darcy thought. _ There goes my freaking concentration. _

She was lucky that the game was raucous. Also, that she got an early question about the cotton gin and then another about Anwar Sadat and got too into the game to care about who was next to her. They won the first round. “A what heart?” Rumlow asked, when she got an Edgar Allen Poe question and beamed.

_ “The Telltale Heart,” _ she said. “You didn’t read that in school?”

“He can’t read,” Clint cracked. “You’ll have to help him, Darce.” Rumlow glared at Clint.

“What’s the name of the Greek goddess of victory?” the radio guy asked.

“Nike!” Cam and Darcy said in unison.

“So easy,” Cam said.

“Right?” Darcy said.

“Oh, that’s who that’s named for?” Rumlow said. “The shoes?”

“The shoes,” Clint repeated in a dopey voice. Darcy thought Nat kicked him under the table.

“Don’t be snide to Brock,” Darcy said, then realized she’d never called him by his first name before. No one did. They all called him Rumlow. What if he went by a middle name? Or a nickname? And she’d just outed herself as his weirdo workplace stalker who was a.) taking an obvious interest and b.) totally out of the loop on nicknames, thus uncool. An uncool person temporarily crashing the cool table? And falling down. She sighed. 

“Thank you,” Rumlow said, giving her a look she couldn’t decipher. She smiled at him, relieved. 

“No worries,” Darcy said. They went through several more questions. She ordered French fries to go with her beer. Rumlow begged ketchup for her from a nearby table. “Thanks,” Darcy said, bumping his shoulder. She could be cool.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he said, brown eyes watching her.

“The Sykes-Picot agreement…” the radio guy began. A second later, she jumped and almost dropped a fry as everyone was looking at him for the question. Someone was touching her. Rubbing her thigh gently. Darcy looked down. Rumlow had his hand on her thigh. _ What the fuckdoodle? He was touching her! Not that she was going to stop him... _

“France and Great Britain,” Darcy said in a slightly quavery voice.

“And you won the round!” the radio guy said. “More beers for that team!”

“We won!” Sharon said, sounding happy. The radio guy announced a five-minute break. Nat got up to use the bathroom.

“Darce, you’re a genius,” Clint said. “If you and Rumlow weren’t sucking face on Halloween, I’d totally kiss you, but I know he has them cooties.”

“Cooties, really?” Sharon said, giving Clint a look.

“You told him about that?” Darcy said, full-on horrified, to Rumlow.

“I didn’t tell anybody,” Rumlow said. He withdrew his hand from her upper thigh; she was glaring at him. He shot Clint a dirty look, then gave her a softer one. “Darcy,” he said, “I didn’t.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Darcy said.

“He was miked for sound,” Cam said, looking apologetic.

“Oh my God,” Darcy said, covering her face. “You have my kissing sounds on file?”

“Yup,” Clint said.

“He’s lying. I made them delete that part of the files,” Rumlow said.

“Thank you--unless you’re implying you’re embarrassed by kissing me?” Darcy said, lifting her face out of her hands and turning to look at him.

“No,” he said. “Of course not.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. The true awkwardness of the situation landed on her when she met Sharon’s eyes. The other woman looked sympathetic. 

“Plenty of weirder stuff happens on missions, nobody’s going to make fun of you,” Sharon said.

“She kissed Steve when he was on the run, it was probably a felony,” Clint announced. Sharon rolled her eyes.

“Thank you,” Darcy said to Sharon, ignoring Clint. She realized Rumlow was grimacing.

“We’re gonna begin our next round,” radio guy was saying, at the front of the room, when Nat returned.

“You’re the one who bailed on dinner,” Rumlow abruptly told Darcy in a low voice.

“What?” she said, distracted. “What are you talking about?”

“You bailed last night,” he repeated, “with that fake phone call from Foster.” 

“Ooooh,” Clint said across the table. “Darce, did you plan that? A blind date escape call?”

“No. That was a real phone call,” Darcy scoffed. “Jane locks herself out all the time. Tell him, Nat.”

“She is notoriously absent-minded,” Nat said, grinning. “I have had to unlock her car three times when she locked the keys inside.”

“She always puts them in her bag and then puts the bag in the backseat,” Darcy said. “Boom, the locks automatically engage when she shuts the door again.”

“Oh,” Rumlow said. He sighed. Was he actually upset that she left?

“Besides, I wasn’t---” Darcy began, but then they got a trivia question about _ Jaws. _

“Martin Brody!” she and Rumlow said in unison. He looked at her. 

“I love that damn movie,” he said.

“I love it and I hate it,” Darcy said. “I was obsessed with it as a kid, but I couldn’t take baths or go in the ocean.”

“What?” Clint said. “You didn’t take baths?”

“Shhh,” Nat said. 

“I showered,” Darcy explained.

“Yeah,” Rumlow said, nodding.

“And it kinda ruined swimming pools, too,” she added. “I was only, like, nine, but I couldn’t stop renting it from Blockbuster.”

“Why?” Sharon said. Darcy shrugged. 

“I feel the same way about _ The Neverending Story,” _Cam said.

“Oooh, yeah,” Darcy said.

“What movie is that?” Rumlow wondered.

“It’s a kids’ movie from the eighties,” Darcy explained. “I can’t really remember what it was about, except for like, two things.”

“It’s very traumatizing,” Cam said. “Don’t watch it. Just don’t.”

“The kid’s horse dies,” Darcy said.

“Exactly,” Cam said. “He gets sad and just refuses to move and dies.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rumlow said.

“It’s German,” Nat said, as if that explained it all.

She began to relax again during the third round of trivia. Rumlow’s fingers crept closer to her thigh and she wondered if he wouldn’t be up for some making out after this, she was going to get brave and ask, she promised herself--but then a tiny beep started to emanate from his wrist. “Shit,” he said, moving his hand away. Beeps started to pop up all over the table: first Sharon, then Nat, Clint, and even Cam. “Emergency,” Rumlow growled out, sighing. “We have to go.” They all left cash on the table.

“I’ll take care of it,” Darcy promised.

“Sorry,” Sharon said. “This always happens.”

“Occupational hazard,” Cam said. Darcy thought Nat was staring at a grim-faced Rumlow as he zipped his jacket. He sighed, then leaned down to whisper in Darcy’s ear. 

“We’ll try this again,” Rumlow said, resting his hand on her shoulder.

“Sure,” she said, feeling her nerves flutter, “and I won’t give you a hard time for your emergency,” she sassed him. Clint laughed.

“She’s got you there,” Clint said. Rumlow’s face went a little funny, then he smirked and leaned down to Darcy again. Everyone else was headed for the door.

“You’ve been giving me a hard time all night, sweetheart,” he said, in a rough whisper. A thrill went up Darcy’s spine. He was obviously hitting on her, wasn’t he? She shivered a little. He smirked, licked his lips, and dropped his hand away. He turned back to look at her before he disappeared through the exit.

“Welp,” Darcy said, out loud. “That was interesting.”

When she got home and told Jane everything, Jane looked at her with one of her canny, engaged expressions. “Rumlow was your blind date,” Jane said.

“What?” Darcy said. “No, no. It was the disappearing guy, I told you!” Jane tilted her head.

“Really, Darcy? Think about it,” Jane said. 

“Oh, shit,” Darcy said.

“What did Nat say? That this guy was infatuated with you?” Jane said.

“But he didn’t talk to me after the kiss!” Darcy said. 

“He’s talking to you now,” Jane said. 

“I really need to actually discuss this with him, whatever it is,” Darcy said. Jane nodded, then grinned.

“Whatever it is? Don’t tell me you have doubts?” Jane said.

“I keep telling you, your point-of-view has Thor-distortion,” Darcy grumbled. “He’s seen me butt-scoot down some stairs, fall on my face--” she listed out, over Jane’s laughter.

When she heard STRIKE Alpha was back from their mission, she worked up her nerve, told Jane she was going, and walked up to his office. Darcy ran into Natasha, who nodded, and gave her directions. Darcy was sweating a little. Surprising her, Rumlow was standing in the hallway, talking to Clint. Hawkeye was leaning out of a door several feet down. “--if we get that evidence report back, everything should be ready to go by---Darcy?” Rumlow said, sounding surprised.

“Hi,” she said, voice a little froggy with nerves. Clint grinned widely.

“Come to see your boy, Darce?” he teased.

“Shut up, Barton,” Rumlow said. The sound of his voice, just doing that, was enough to make her heart thud. Darcy--trying desperately not to trip--walked over to Rumlow. Clint looked between them.

“Ahem,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

“What?” Darcy said. Clint raised his eyes. She followed his gaze. There was a sprig of mistletoe hanging above Rumlow’s office door. 

“Shit,” Rumlow said. “When’d you do that?” 

“Oh, about ten minutes ago, when Nat texted me that Darcy was headed up here. I was helping. What took you so long, Darce? You working up your nerve?” Clint said.

“Oh my God, you troll,” Darcy said, blushing wildly.

“Is anybody gonna kiss or am I just hanging mistletoe for nothing?” Clint said.

“It’s not even Thanksgiving,” Darcy said.

“Nobody takes my matchmaking seriously,” Clint complained. “Or they chicken out,” he added, looking at Darcy.

“She doesn’t have to kiss me in front of you, if she doesn’t want to--” Rumlow objected simultaneously.

“Hold on, I’m not afraid,” Darcy said. She looked from Clint to Rumlow. Rumlow was blinking; Clint was smiling. “I can kiss him in front of people!” she insisted. She put her hands hastily on Rumlow’s chest, stood on her tiptoes, and brushed her mouth against his. She felt Rumlow’s hands go around her waist and squeeze. Darcy pulled away--Rumlow was leaning in, his mouth brushed her cheekbone--to look at Clint. “See?” she said. Clint burst out laughing. 

“Shut your mouth,” Rumlow said, corralling Darcy into his office and shutting the door. He’d pulled her so close that Darcy leaned against the door, all flushed.

“Sorry,” she said. “I just came to talk--”

“Darcy,” Rumlow said in a low, hot voice. “I don’t wanna talk.” He leaned down and kissed her. There was a general scramble as he pressed his body to hers. Darcy put her hands under his shirt as he sucked on her top lip. He was so warm. Warm all over.

“Oh my God,” she said, feeling his abs.

“Huh?” he said, drawing back with glazed eyes. She pried his t-shirt up.

“Your abs. They’re like a DC grid map,” she said, stunned and pawing at him. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. They were like perfect squares. Did he have an eight-pack? It was crazy.

“Yeah?” he said. He was smirking. “Let’s get yours off, too, huh?” he added. She wiggled out of her shirt eagerly. He kept kissing her, even when he had to help her out of her sleeve and she almost fell over.

“Shit,” Darcy muttered, mouth pressing awkwardly against his jaw, hanging on his arms. She realized Rumlow was too busy staring at her tits to care. His mouth had dropped a little and he was dazed-looking. 

“You wanna--desk?” he stuttered out, cupping them and thumbing at her nipples through her bra fabric. His gaze was so intense, she’d started sweating wildly again.

“Yeah,” Darcy said, as he half dragged, half-carried her to the desk. He scooped her up, but she didn’t know how to balance her weight in his arms and wobbled. They were a tangle of limbs, touching, kissing, and unbuttoning. He pried at her bra hook and it fell forward unhooked, then got stuck at her elbows as she clung to his shoulders. “Shit,” she muttered, breaking off their kiss to slide it off one arm. She left the bra hanging off her other elbow as she got his pants undone and rubbed his dick. “Oh my God,” she said, looking down in shock. He felt huge. The bulge in his briefs was huge.

“I’ve got condoms,” he bit out, groaning and kissing her mouth roughly. 

“Lemme, lemme turn around,” she said. That would be more comfortable, she thought, suddenly afraid she’d panic looking directly into his eyes. He was so hot. She slid her leggings down to her knees and leaned over the desk. Behind her, he groaned. She looked back. He’d pushed his pants down over his hips and was putting on the condom. He looked up at her.

“Oh God, baby,” he said, voice low. “I want you so much.” She was too turned on to make words properly, so she just nodded and stuttered out a frazzled yeah. Then she threw her bra across the desk, feeling like an idiot. He hands pressed into her back, thumbs low, as he positioned himself behind her. She felt Brock’s stubble between her shoulder blades. His mouth was hot. Urgent. Kisses on her neck and in her hair.

“Uhhh,” Darcy said, “oh God,” as he pushed inside her. She kept repeating it like a mantra. No one had ever fucked her like this, until her legs shook and she whimpered. She wanted him all over her, inside her, she thought, moaning. She knew people could hear them. He was gasping. “Uhhh,” she moaned again, unable to stop herself. His hands roamed over her. He was clutching one of her breasts when she was seized with a wild sexual impulse. His thumb was inches from her face. She dipped her head and sucked his thumb. In response, Brock grunted and swore. He was pushing his weight into her more forcefully when she realized she was close, shuddering and gasping. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he said, thrusting again. She’d let go of his thumb and squeezed her eyes shut, but couldn’t help the high-pitched keen she made when she came. It sounded like a shrieking tea kettle or a cat being stepped on. Brock grunted, coming with a final thrust. For a moment, everything went still. All she could feel was a wave of pleasure. 

“Ughhh,” Darcy said, returning to earth and feeling him slump a little, his hands patting her sides. “Oh God,” she whispered. Her muscles felt weak.

“Yeah?” he said. Brock was leaning against her now. His face pressed into the back of her neck. 

“Mmm,” she said. Darcy could feel the flush spreading across her neck. She was dazed, but aware enough to be humiliated. Thumb sucking? Making weird noises? He probably thought she was such a weirdo. She’d never done anything remotely that strange, noise-wise, during sex with anyone else.

“You okay?” he said quietly. _ Oh God, _ she thought, _ he does think I’m weird! _Internally, she started to panic.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said.

“I’m gonna get up,” he said. “I’m squishing you, baby.”

“A little,” she said, reaching across the table for her bra. It was sitting across his Agent of the Year award. She slipped it back over her arms. When she half rose with her back to him, Darcy realized she’d left a sheen of sweat on his desk. Great. She was fumblingly trying to hook her bra by reaching around when he spoke.

“I got it,” he said. “Hold on, let me clean you up.” 

“What?” she said, confused, but then she felt him patting her thighs with a tissue. “Oh,” she said. “I’m, uh, a mess.”

“You’re okay,” he said, pulling her leggings up. He had turned to grab her shirt off the floor when she felt brave enough to turn and face him. “Here,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said in a low voice. She pulled her shirt over her head, grateful she didn’t have to meet his eyes. Darcy had never been so embarrassed in her life.

“If you want to use my bathroom?” he offered, pulling his t-shirt back on. “I’ve got a private one.” He gestured towards a door in the wall. 

“No, we’ve, um, got a lab one. And I have other clothes in the lab,” she said, swallowing. It was hard to make eye contact. “So, I better go, uh, get those--” she said hurriedly. 

“You’re going?” he said. 

“Do you think Clint is still in the hallway?” she said. “I’m sure I was loud.” She couldn’t keep the note of misery out of her voice.

“I’ll check,” he said, opening the door. Brock peered out. His shoulders relaxed. “All clear.”

“Okay, thank you,” Darcy said, feeling supremely awkward. “I should go before he catches us.”

“Yeah,” Rumlow said, grimacing. “Darcy--” he began, as she went out into the hall. She looked at him, but he stopped, inhaling. Two agents had emerged at the other end of the corridor. She saw him look down quickly and realized Brock was checking his fly. He looked up at her. “I’ll email you,” he said.

“Yeah, okay,” she said.

“Okay,” he repeated. 

She had no idea what to say. She nodded, turned, and fled to the lab. “Are you okay?” Jane said, when she came through the door, shut it behind her, and burst into hot, stressed out tears. “What happened?” Jane asked.

“Sex,” Darcy sniffled. “We had sex. In his office.”

“Was it awful?” Jane said, eyes wide.

“No, it was great, I’m just a complete idiot.” Darcy plopped down in her chair, wiping her eyes roughly. “I’ll never be able to look at him again.”

“Why? Did you say, um, I love you or something?” Jane asked.

“No, I just made weird sex noises and--and--” Darcy stuttered, feeling overwhelmed. “I sucked his thumb, Jane!” 

“Oh,” Jane said. “His thumb?” Her voice was quizzical.

“It was an impulse,” Darcy said. “I don’t know why. His hand was there.”

“Yeah,” Jane said.

“So, you’ll understand when I apply for that transfer to a lab in Greenland,” Darcy said. She slumped her face onto her arms on her desk. “I can just stay there until global warming kicks in and the ocean swallows me.”

“Darce,” Jane said gently, patting her shoulder. Darcy looked up.

“I made tea kettle sounds, like _ ahhhh eeeeeeeeeee,” _Darcy said, trying to demonstrate. 

“Oh,” Jane said.

“I can’t even hit that note normally. It was worse than that,” she added. Jane nodded. 

“But the sex was good?” Jane said.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. She gestured. “He’s like this, oh my God. And his whole body is incredible--it turned me into a complete freakshow.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“I’m sure you weren’t _ that _freaky,” Jane said, trying for reassuring. Darcy could tell. 

“Well, not in a good way!” Darcy said. “Just in a continuing humiliation theme. What if he’s too much for me, like too much man?” 

“What?” Jane said, frowning.

“I date guys,” Darcy said. “Nice guys, sweet guys, guys without those abs. Guys who are low pressure because they still wear hoodies and maybe they want to learn to play Mumford and Sons songs on the guitar. He’s a _ man, _ Jane. A grown man. This is like making the jump from a Donald to a Thor.”

“Ohhhh,” Jane said. Then she grinned. “It’s a good jump.”

“But how did you handle it?” Darcy said. Jane shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Thor was there and I didn’t want anybody else.”

“And you never felt insecure, did you,” Darcy processed out loud. She meant it as a statement. Jane wasn’t insecure. Jane was determined. She was the crunchy cookie part of their two woman team; Darcy realized she’d always been the soft middle part. 

“Maybe when I met his mom,” Jane admitted. “But she was kind to me, even when we went on the break.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. Frigga had been wonderful to them, even when Thor’s galaxy-spanning responsibilities had taken him away frequently. He’d missed birthdays and major events, Darcy suspected, with a little meddling push from Odin. Odin, unlike Frigga, was not wonderful. Jane had asked for the break, hoping he would realize he wanted to be more involved in her life on Earth, but as far as they knew, he was off in space someplace, protecting the realms. It was sad. It made Darcy doubt her own ability to keep Brock Rumlow interested. She was so much less accomplished than Jane, less educated, less beautiful---her phone dinged.

“Is that him?” Jane said, obviously interested. Darcy looked at the screen. It was a text from Rumlow. Two words: _ Dinner tonight? _

“He wants to have dinner tonight?” Darcy said.

“Are you going to go?” Jane said. 

“Should I?”

“How do you feel?” Jane asked. Darcy thought for a minute.

“Like if I don’t go tonight, I’ll chicken out permanently,” she said, sighing. She tapped back a reply: _ Sure. Where and when? _She watched the text bubble appear. His reply surprised her. “He wants to have dinner at his place?” she said to Jane.

“Ooooh,” Jane said. “Confirmation that he had fun today.”

“Oh my God, that’s like three hours,” Darcy fretted.

***

“What are you smilin’ for?” Jack asked, as they circled each other. Brock refocused. He’d been thinking about Darcy. He was exercising with Jack in SHIELD’s STRIKE gym, trying to burn off some of his elation. 

“Nothing,” he lied. He’d had sex with Darcy. It seemed surreal. She’d come apart underneath him. It was like a goddamned dream. He’d had that dream--but the messy, sweaty, intense reality had been even better. If Barton hadn’t been lingering around, spooking her, they could have fooled around a little more, he thought. Today had been rushed, but he wanted to take his time. Things kept getting in their way: missions, fucking dead-end staircases, coworkers, all kinds of shit. He thought she probably wanted to talk about where things were going. She probably didn’t do casual. Too desirable a woman to be trifled with, he imagined. He needed to step up his game.

“Bullshit, mate,” Jack said. “What’s going on? You getting a raise or another bloody award?”

“No,” Brock said. 

“Well?” Jack said, dropping the pads in his arms. Brock sighed, then leaned in to whisper.

“I had sex with Darcy. Just now. In my office,” he added.

“What?” Jack said. 

“Shhh,” Brock said. “Keep your voice down!” Barton and several others were exercising on the other side of the room. Steve Rogers was hitting one of the bags, too.

“No wonder you’re grinning like a high koala,” Jack said, laughing.

“So?” Brock said, taking a swing at his pads. He went a little wide.

“Already slipping, I’ll have to keep one eye on you from here on out,” Jack said, amused. Brock was infatuated with Darcy, he knew. Bloody mad about her. Every time he drank, he raved about how funny she was and how beautiful. Jack couldn’t understand why Brock couldn’t talk to her, since she was a perfectly nice girl. Very approachable. The Halloween thing had been hilarious.

“I asked her to dinner--” Brock began, then stopped as he heard his phone ding. “Hold on,” he said. He reached down to pick it up at the edge of the mat. There was a reply from Darcy. “She said yes,” Brock said, grinning at his phone. “I was worried--”

“Really?” Jack scoffed. “You’re screwing in your office and you think she’ll say no to a meal?”

“Shh,” Brock said. “Shut your goddamn mouth, Cap’ll hear. I don’t want that getting around, she seemed worried somebody heard us. Don’t want to upset her.”

“Afraid she’ll throw you over?” Jack teased. Brock’s serious nod startled him. “I heard Barton’s been going around with mistletoe,” Jack added, wishing he hadn’t said anything.

“Yeah,” Brock said. He frowned.

“What?” Jack asked. He’d bloody stuck his foot in, hadn’t he?

“What the fuck do I cook?” Brock wondered.

“You’re cooking?” Jack said, eyebrows near his hairline. “You live on protein bars and charred meat, you don’t cook.” 

“I burned a chicken breast one time on that mission,” Brock said. “Just one time.”

“Scent of death,” Jack said grimly. 

“I gotta figure out what would impress her,” Brock said.

“Don’t she and Foster live on Pop Tarts?” Jack said. He looked at Brock’s serious expression. “Maybe order food from a restaurant, mate? Or one of them fancy grocery stores?” he suggested.

“That’s an idea,” Brock said. He repeated the words solemnly. “Order food.”

“Why not?” Jack said.

“I’m trying to be impressive,” he said, wondering if he could make chicken. He could make chicken, he thought. Jack was wrong. He thought about what he wanted to do. What he really wanted to do was for Darcy to think he was more together than he probably was. He’d seen the way women looked at his often-barren fridge, with the one case of bottled beer in the crisper, the slabs of frozen beef and chicken breasts in the freezer, alongside the frozen broccoli and bags of peas. His extensive collection of protein bars, shakes, and supplements. But who kept vegetables when you could be called away at any moment? He would need to buy vegetables, probably. He thought there might be a bag of onions next to the beer. 

“What are you thinking about?” Jack asked.

“Onions,” Brock said. He was mentally planning. 

Of course, all his dinner plans went to shit. First, he got delayed by an afternoon briefing that ran long. He was tapping his thigh, watching the clock, when he caught Maria Hill giving him the _ behave, Rumlow _look. “Sorry,” he mouthed, sighing.

“What’s wrong with you?” she said, as the meeting let out.

“Date,” he said crisply. “I’m going to be late.”

“Ooooh,” Maria said. “You finally work up the nerve to ask out Darcy?”

“Who told you?” Brock asked.

“Sharon,” Maria supplied.

“Wish me luck, I’m cooking,” Brock said. 

“You’re kidding,” Maria said.

“Why does everybody think I’m terrible at cooking? I feed myself!” Brock called over his shoulder as he started to jog towards the parking garage. He still had well over two hours. He could handle this. He had it covered. He’d wagered on one or two accidents on the Beltway to delay him--that was normal--he just didn’t count on an accident _and_ grocery store lines. He found himself in a six-person deep line. They had several registers down and it was crowded. “Shit,” he said, tapping his foot. He stood there with a container of pre-made blue cheese potatoes and a steam-in-bag of French green beans under his arm, growing more and more agitated. The couple ahead of him were arguing about coupons. He looked around, desperate for a shorter line. Was that--? Before he could move, someone else slid into the adjoining line. They had a cart loaded with groceries. He sighed. “Why didn’t the last coupon go through?” the man was asking the cashier.

“I’ll get a manager,” the tired-looking teenager cashier said flatly. Brock checked his watch. His window for making chicken was rapidly eroding. _ Fuck. _He needed to text Darcy, let her know.

_ I’m running late, sweetheart. _

_ Do you need to reschedule? I’m free Saturday, _she replied.

_ No, I have plans on Saturday, _he tapped out. His sister was bringing his niece and and nephew to visit. They were going to the zoo, maybe the Smithsonian. He needed to get Cap’s autograph for the kids.

_ Okay, _ she wrote back, after a pause. _ 8:30? _

_ Yes _ , he tapped back _ . _ He felt relieved. It was going to be fine.

Only it wasn’t. He had the chicken in the oven and was getting out of the shower, when the doorbell rang. Darcy was here. “Shit,” he said. “Pants, I need clean pants.” He’d come home, prepped the food, then realized he was sweaty. He opened a drawer and grabbed the nearest pair of clean clothing. Then the fire alarm started to beep. “Goddammit,” he muttered, forgoing underwear in his panic. He’d climbed into his pants--they were actually short sweatpants--and thrown the oven door open. “Fuck,” he said. The chicken was burned. He was staring miserably at the pan when he heard a gentle rapping on the door. He set the pan down and went to the door. It was Darcy. He swung the door open. “Hi,” he said, chagrined. She looked wonderful.

“Is that the fire alarm?” she said, tilting her head.

“Yeah,” he said.

***

Darcy gaped at him. “You like pizza, right?” Brock asked, letting her in. “I burned the chicken.” 

“Oh,” she said. “Yes, I like pizza.”

“Good,” he said. He seemed untroubled by the screeching fire alarm. He was shirtless, wearing knee-length sweatpants, feet bare. As he moved, it dawned on her that he was probably going commando. It was difficult not be distracted. “I gotta fix this,” he said. 

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said, dragging her eyes from his body. She’d been alternating between anxiety and horniness as she drove over to his apartment. Dinner at his place meant sex, Darcy had decided. She’d put on good underwear and promised herself that she wouldn’t make any weird noises. She was expecting sex, not Brock Rumlow opening a kitchen window to let in cold November air and fanning smoke from around his fire alarm. Swearing, he got a step-ladder to deactivate it. She eyed his back and then he turned. “Please don’t tell anybody I burned the damn chicken,” he said.

“Why?” Darcy said, guiltily biting her lips. She had not been thinking about food. She had been thinking about getting his pants off. Maybe putting something else in her mouth.

“I don’t cook, uh, well,” he said.

“Oh,” she said.

“But you bake?” he said.

“A little,” she admitted. “But I’m not a serious baker.” He tilted his head, then climbed off the step-ladder. “What?” Darcy said, as he wrapped his arms around her waist. He cupped her low back.

“Thank you for lying to me to make me feel better,” Brock said. He leaned down to kiss her mouth.

“Ohh,” Darcy squeaked out, surprised. Then she blushed, but she didn’t think he noticed. His eyes were closed as he pressed his mouth to hers urgently, sucking at her bottom lip. That helped her relax, as much as she could relax. Or at least replaced her jitters with a new feeling. Darcy could feel the heat rolling off his torso and the responding warmth pooling between her legs. Her heart was beating fast. She kept kissing him, raking her fingers through his dark hair. It was thick and soft. It made a contrast with the muscular planes of his body. He ground himself against her and she gasped, then scolded herself. _ No embarrassing noises, _ she thought.

“Darcy,” he said, breaking the kiss to nuzzle her. “Lemme order that pizza?”

“Yeah,” she said, licking her lips. He caught sight of her tongue, his eyes went wider, and he leaned in again to chase it with his mouth. She couldn’t help it: she moaned a little when his lips touched her. His tongue brushed hers gently. She could just puddle in his arms, she thought. So she did, hanging onto him. He backed her against a cabinet, the urgency of his kisses intensifying. “Brock,” she said, kissing his cheekbone. “Condoms?” 

“Hmm,” he said, pulling back again. He kissed the bridge of her nose. “I feel like I was supposed to be doing something else first?”

“Pizza,” she prompted.

“Yeah.”

“Then me,” she said, feeling bold. He laughed and reached for the phone. She let her eyes linger on his body as he ordered. He looked suddenly canny and then reached out. He cupped her face with his hand and then ran a thumb over her mouth slowly. It was deeply erotic. Her entire body felt flushed and hot. _ Goddammit, _she thought, wanting to suck his thumb again. 

“Card’s on file,” he was telling the pizza place, but his eyes were on her. He grinned and rubbed her bottom lip again, licking his lips. She mimicked his movement, flicking her tongue out lightly. He increased the pressure on her mouth a fraction and she couldn’t help herself. Her cheeks were flaming with embarrassment, but she sucked his thumb greedily. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Oh fuck me,” Brock groaned out. They’d moved to the couch as soon as he hung up the phone. Darcy had crawled down his body, eased down his sweatpants, and was sucking him off. “Ughhhh,” he said. “That feels so fucking good. I shoulda--shoulda asked you out earlier, baby,” he babbled, craning to look down at her. Her mouth felt amazing. “So good. I was stupid, I been crazy about you forever,” he said. Her eyes flashed up at him. “Ughhhh,” he groaned again. His body spasmed. “I’m close,” he choked out. “Honey, I’m close.” She pulled away, releasing him, but they were a fraction too slow. He came--and then cringed. “Shit,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said, looking down at her shirt. And the ends of her hair. He was horrified.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, waiting for her to be angry. Yell at him some. She looked up and widened her eyes. “Really sorry, baby,” he said. She was blushing. He could see spots of color on her cheeks. Her neck was flushed. He swallowed, waiting for the outburst. The moment seemed to stretch out. 

Darcy stared back at him and then burst out laughing. It was a shrieking laugh. She covered her mouth, rocking forward and giggling. Her eyes had lit up. Brock stared. “You’re not mad?” he said. She shook her head, unable to stop laughing. It took her several seconds to regain enough control to talk. 

“Nope,” she said, finally. He looked at her in confusion and pleasure. She wasn’t angry at all, he realized. Maybe embarrassed. God, he was a fucking idiot. The doorbell rang. 

“The pizza,” he said, feeling stupid.

“I’m going to let you get that, while I brush my teeth and try to get the splooge out of my hair,” she cracked, cheeks pink. She definitely was embarrassed, he could tell. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Use mine. Through the bedroom. Grab one of my t-shirts, okay?” Brock said.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. She scoffed.

“Put your pants on and answer the door, hot stuff,” she sassed him and then closed her mouth abruptly, like the words had surprised her. It was cute. God, he was so crazy about her. 

“Darcy?” he said, as she went to his bedroom door. She turned back. 

“Hmm?” she said, looking like she still wanted to laugh.

“I, uh--” The doorbell rang again.

“You better get that,” she said, disappearing into his bedroom. He really needed to get her into his bed, he thought, sighing. He pulled up his pants.

He watched as she ate pizza on his couch in one of the t-shirts from his boxing gym. It was a little snug on her, not that he minded. She caught him looking. “Okay,” she said. “Tell me about the tattoos?” She reached over and touched his forearm. 

“Oh,” he said. He looked at his forearms. “These are newest ones, they’re traditional Thai tattoos, done by hand. I got ‘em after a mission in the northern mountains, near Doi Inthanon. The others I got different places,” he said, shrugging.

“Why?” she asked, looking genuinely curious. “For a particular reason or just to be pretty?”

“Pretty?” he said, smiling. “You’re pretty. C’mere.” He extended his arm, trying to get her to come closer. She snuggled in, blushing again. “What’s that?”

“What?” Darcy said.

“You blush a lot,” he said.

“I’m pale!” she insisted, turning a little more pink. “Pale people blush. Let me eat my pizza in peace,” she grumbled, then took a big bite.

“Okay, baby,” Brock said. He kissed her forehead. He stretched his bare feet out on the coffee table and looked at them, then her. She’d taken her shoes off, too. She was wearing patterned socks. “So, this thumb sucking deal, does that also apply to toes? Because I would totally do that for you, if you wanted me to suck your toes.”  She choked a little on her pizza.

“No,” she said, looking appalled. He raised his eyebrows. “No!” Darcy insisted. 

“You don’t wanna try it?” he countered and she did that thing again.

“I’m ticklish, I might do--stuff,” she said, then shut her mouth abruptly, looking like she wanted to reel the words back in.

“Do stuff?” he said wryly.

“Make noise,” she whispered, expression slightly embarrassed again. He shrugged.

“This is my apartment,” he said. “Besides, I thought I won the embarrassment sweepstakes, burning dinner and, uh, everything?” He gestured to his t-shirt. He didn’t want to say  _ jizzing on you  _ if that might put her off her food or something.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right, you  _ did _ win, didn’t you?” she said, looking down at the t-shirt stretched over her chest and turning more mirthful.

“So anything you do is golden,” he reminded her. He kept telling her that after dinner, when they finally made it to his bedroom. He’d peeled off her t-shirt and was kneeling between her legs. He looked at her feet again. “You’re sure?” he said. “Cause right now? I want to.”

“Uhmmmmmm,” she said, visibly sweaty from all the kissing they’d done on the couch. He could see sweat beading between her breasts. “Maybe? This is so weird.”

“Is it? I’m thinking it’s just fun, sweetheart,” he said, prying off one of her socks. Her toenails were painted with little glittery stars. 

“You don’t think--” she began. He grinned and tickled the underside of her foot. Darcy shrieked. He started to laugh at her responsiveness. “Oh yeah, this is going to be really fun,” Brock told her, moving to take the rest of her clothes off. 

It was fun. 

She liked the drag of his stubble against her feet just as much as she liked him kissing her tiny little pinky toe, he discovered. He got her to make a lot of different noises. He was in the middle of fucking her with her feet on his shoulders when he leaned over to kiss the soles of her feet on impulse. She made an inchoate, urgent noise that was something between a shriek and a yelp, clenching around him. “Fuck,” he hissed out, trying to hold up his weight on a shaking arm as he came. “Ughhhh,” he groaned. They both stayed there for a moment, breathing heavily. He felt dazed--and elated.

“Oh God,” she said unfolding her legs and flopping them on the bed. 

“What, baby?” he asked, worried he’d maybe overstretched her or something. He kissed her face and she looked at him with glazed eyes.

“I made the freaking tea kettle noise again,” she said, sighing. He started to laugh.

“You don’t always sound like that when you come?” he said.

“No,” she huffed. “I give up.”

“What?” he said. “Give up what?”

“Trying to be cool during sex with you, it’s a lost cause,” she said sadly. He laughed, then seeing that she looked truly miserable, kissed her and tickled her until she giggled and shrieked some more. 

It was clear she’d never had sex like that before. Mostly because she went to the bathroom, came back to bed, and said, “I’ve never had this much sex before,” then proceeded to curl up in his arms and not move. But he was too adrenaline-flooded to sleep. He kept wanting to ask her things, now that his self-imposed awkwardness about talking to her had faded away, too. He got her to tell him about where she was from and some of her travels with Jane until Darcy started to look visibly sleepy in his arms. “I can’t believe you’re Italian and you eat cheese-free pizza,” she said, yawning. “I’m mortadella wounded by this knowledge.” He snorted, kissing her shoulders.

“Did you just make a goddamn pun?” he said, chuckling.

“I have fun with puns,” she murmured, half asleep.

“Mortadella is sausage,” he said.

“Shhhh,” she said. “Don’t ruin it, I’m sure there’s cheese someplace.”

"I'm crazy about you," he whispered into her hair.  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Darcy woke with a start. A siren was shrieking in her ear and she was being pinned down by something heavy. She scrambled, panicking and disoriented, until she realized that it was just an alarm clock and Brock’s arm. “Ohhh, shit,” she muttered, awkwardly putting on her glasses and staring at his arm flung over her boobs. He picked up his head.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, reaching over to her turn it off.

“What time is it?” Darcy said. It was pitch dark outside still. She could see through the window blinds’ edge.

“Four-thirty,” he said, shifting slightly, “I go to the gym at four-thirty.”

“Why?” Darcy said, not meaning to sound so pitiful. He snickered.

“I gotta stay in shape, sweetheart,” he said, kissing the side of her face and starting to crawl out of bed. Pouting, Darcy wrapped her arms around his torso. Then she squeezed her legs around his waist.

“Don’t go,” she said.

“What are you doing?” Brock said, chuckling. His hair stuck out at all angles.

“I’m wombatting you,” she said. “My legs are short but strong. You can’t leave meeeeeee.”

“Darcy,” he said, sighing.

“You want to leave?” she said, making a face. “Because I thought I was just over here, providing you with an exceptionally convenient excuse to get more sleep and then more sex? They don’t let wombats in the gym, you have to stay home.” He looked tempted, stroked her thigh, then grimaced. 

“I sleep in, I lose the abs,” he said, looking torn. “First thing to go.”

“Boooooo,” she said. “But I would still like you anyway.” He grinned, leaning in to kiss her.

“That right?” he said.

“Yup,” she said, rubbing his back.

“That’s cute, though.” 

“I’m very cute normally,” she said. “Kinda.” She had no idea how crazy her hair was. Brock gave her a long, smirking look.

“You gotta let me go, Little Wombat,” he said. “I’ll bring you back coffee.” Darcy sighed dramatically, pretending to sulk.

“Fine--ahhhhhh!” he’d started to tickle her and Darcy almost dropped onto the bed. “Oh em gee, don’t make me pee myself,” she groused, giggling. He leaned over and kissed her again.

“I’ll be back soon, though,” Brock said.

“Okay,” she said, still poking her lip out. She watched as he dressed.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Brock said, turning and pointing a finger at her.

“I never go anywhere this early, trust me,” Darcy said, grinning.

“You want coffee and breakfast? I’ll bring you breakfast,” he said.

“Okay.” She snuggled back into the covers after she heard the door shut and lock. It was far, far, too early to snoop around his apartment, even if she would normally be all over that. When she woke up, it was six-thirty and she could hear someone moving around. “That you?” she called out.

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“Okay I’m getting up,” Darcy said, hurrying to get out of bed and put on his t-shirt. She really did need to pee. And also, she wanted to make sure her hair wasn’t insane. Luckily, it was only about ten percent bonkers frizz. She could scrunch that away with some water. She splashed some on her face, too. When she came out of the bathroom, he was waiting in the kitchen. 

“I got coffee and, uh, these pastry things,” he said.

“Oooh, pastry things! I love pastry things,” Darcy joked, peering around his arm. He wrapped his arms around her, grinning.

“Did I do good?” he asked. “I don’t actually eat this stuff.”

“Yeah,” she said, standing on her toes to kiss him. He was a great kisser. But she blinked a little when she realized he’d kept his eyes open during the kiss. 

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” she said. Then Darcy frowned. “But it is terrifying to me that you get up this early to exercise. Every single day?” she asked. He nodded. “And you still don’t get pastry things?” she added.

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “I had a protein bar.” Darcy mock-shrieked and clasped her hand over her mouth in pretend horror.

“I’m seriously depressed now. I need two pastry things,” she told him. Brock laughed.

“Take ‘em,” Brock said. He watched her pick the first one. 

“Oooooh, raspberry,” Darcy said. “I loooooove raspberry.” She took a bite and then realized he was still looking at her. Awkward. Catching her glance, he corraled her against the counter and began kissing her neck until she giggled. “Stop! Stop!” she shrieked, laughing.

“Finish your pastry thing,” he said, giving her a smoldering look.

“Oh, no,” Darcy said. “Not that face.”

“No?” he asked.

“That’s too good a face,” she said. 

  
  


After she carpooled into work with Brock, Darcy spent all day in a weird, post-sex haze of happy thoughts. She was almost giddy. She smiled so much that her face hurt and Jane had to say _ her _name more than once to get her attention. “Sorry,” she said, grinning, “did you want something?” 

“Duct tape,” Jane said, laughing. “Are you okay?”

“He broke my brain with sex,” she admitted. “Sex!” 

“And this is a surprise because?” Jane said, smiling.

“Nobody’s ever done that before,” Darcy said. “I mean, yeah, Ian was fun, but it wasn’t like _ that.” _She sighed. “He texted me about lunch downstairs, so we’re going to eat like normals, all right? No more sad desk salads.”

“Fine,” Jane said. “But I wanted it noted that your nookie doesn’t outweigh my research.”

“Jane!” Darcy said. “Unfair!”

“How is that unfair?” she asked.

“Because you are a genius twenty-four-seven and I’ve only had genius-level sex for less than a day, okay?” Darcy pointed out. “Less. Than. One. Day.”

“All right,” Jane said. “We’ll go to lunch like boring people who never do any groundbreaking science.”

“Thank you.”

They were walking downstairs when Darcy spotted Brock in a circle of agents. He was talking animatedly, gesturing with his hands. She smiled. Then her face fell as a female agent walking by paused and squeezed his arm flirtatiously. He turned and grinned at her as she continued to hang onto his bicep. Darcy froze. “Darce?” Jane said in a nervous voice.

“Is he--?” Darcy said, then accidentally tripped over the transition between the laminate flooring and the carpeting and fell forward abruptly, landing with a thud. “Goddammit,” Darcy muttered. Maybe he wouldn’t see her. _ Dear God, let him not see me, _she thought.

“Oh shit,” Jane said, leaning down to help her up. 

“Babe!” Brock called across the room. “Are you okay?”

“Great,” Darcy said bitterly. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said, looking at her reddened palms for abrasions. She was not looking up as he jogged over. Nope. She was going to dust off her legs and pretend everything was cool. She was pissed, but cool. 

“Hey,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she said sourly, feeling peevish. He blinked. “Let’s get lunch.” She walked into the cafeteria, trailed by Brock and Jane.

“You’re not okay,” he said.

“She just saw that woman hanging all over you,” Jane said, as they got trays.

“Jane!” Darcy said. “Traitor.”

“He needs to know that you know,” Jane said.

“Who?” Brock said.

“Seriously?” Darcy said. “That’s your response?” She got herself French fries and glared at him as she picked out a salad. He was grimacing as the three of them sat down at a table. 

“People flirt with me,” Brock said. “I mean you had to know--”

“She had to know what?” Jane said sharply.

“It’s not a big deal,” Brock said, shrugging. He looked at Darcy pleadingly. “Honey--” he said.

“What if you just saw some dude hanging off my arm?” she pointed out.

“I’d be upset. Especially if he made you fall down,” Brock said dryly. 

“Shut up,” Darcy said, laughing in spite of herself. Once she’d smiled, he hooked his toe around the leg of her chair and pulled it closer. 

“It don't mean anything. C’mere,” he said, “sit with me?”

“Okay,” Darcy said scooting half into his lap.

“Good,” he said, nuzzling her. 

“Oh my God, you’re _that_ couple,” Jane said, “I’m going outside to science.”

“Don’t wander off!” Darcy called after her.

“We’ll put a tracker in her shoes,” Brock said reassuringly.

“You can get me one?” she asked.

“Trade you for a kiss,” he bartered.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

“I’m still mad at you, though,” Darcy said, once she’d kissed Brock and eaten some fries. “We just started dating. Flirting with other women is, uh, is wrong.”

“I wasn’t flirting with her, she was flirting with me,” Brock said in a warm voice. He grinned at her. He kept touching her and leaning in to nuzzle her hair or press kisses into her temple. Also, she was still sitting in his lap and Jane hadn’t come back to rescue her from her own hormone-induced weakness. Darcy wasn’t sure she could get up and storm out on her own. 

“It’s unfair tactics,” Darcy repeated. “And very upsetting to me personally.” She gave him a look.

“Baby,” he said in a coaxing voice. “You don’t need to worry about my fidelity. I’m a solid boyfriend. You can trust me. C’mere,” he said, holding her. Several agents glanced at them when he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.

“This is a workplace,” Darcy said, attempting to scold him convincingly with her arms pinned beneath his. He was grinning at her now. “People are staring and whatnot,” she said.

“I like you,” he said. “Don’t wriggle.”

“Stop pythoning me,” Darcy said.

“You like me,” Brock said. “You really like me.” He was doing chipper on purpose, Darcy knew. His smile was too big.

“Do not Sally Field me right now, either,” she grumbled. 

“I can’t believe you’re upset about this and you weren’t upset about the, uh, hair thing,” he said.

“You’re bringing that up in your own defense?” she said. She leaned in. “That you splooged in my hair?” she whispered.

“Not defense, but, uh, I’m confused about things that are and aren’t upsetting to you,” he said. “Most people, they’re uh, upset about that. You weren’t upset then.”

“Excuse me for valuing fidelity more than the other thing,” she said. 

“Duly noted,” he said. “You done with lunch?”

“Yes,” she said. “I need to find Jane.”

“Nope,” he said, lifting her as he stood. She shrieked a little in surprise and a few people looked at them. “We’re going to see somebody,” he announced.

“What?” Darcy said, feet dangling in the air.

“Hang on, I’m picking up your tray,” he said, taking one hand away to carry it. Darcy held onto his neck as he threw away her trash.

“Where are we going?” Darcy said.

“To see someone who’ll give us good communication advice,” Brock said. “Like couples’ therapy.”

  
  


“You want advice from me?” Steve Rogers said, as Brock sat Darcy down on a weight bench in the gym. Captain America looked blankly between them. 

“No, actually, I was looking for Romanoff,” Brock said. “I wanted to talk to her. But you’ll do.”

“What?” Darcy and Steve said at the same time.

“We can talk to him. He does those PSAs,” Brock said. “She’s upset because she saw Agent Jones flirting with me. Not that I initiated. And I came over as soon she fell down.”

“You fell down?” Steve said, frowning. 

“He’s telling it wrong. I was distracted. There was a woman clinging him like a barnacle, I was so stunned and upset that I happened to trip over a transition in the flooring,” Darcy said. Brock reached down and rubbed her shoulders.

“Baby, I’m sorry you got hurt, but you’ve got nothing to worry about. Cap, tell her I’m faithful,” Brock said.

“You want me to tell Darcy you’re not cheating?” Steve said, surprise turning to alarm.

“She knows I’m not cheating, we spent the night together,” Brock said. 

“Don’t embarrass Steve,” Darcy said. “They didn’t do that in his day.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to mention the other thing,” Brock said. “I knew you wouldn’t want me to say that.”

“The other thing?” Steve said.

“We had a little sex accident,” Brock said. “You don’t need to know the details, Cap.”

“We? We?” Darcy said. She narrowed her eyes. “He had an accidental early release. I was not involved.”

“Oh, you were very involved,” Brock said.

“Early release?” Steve said, baffled.

“You know,” Darcy said gesturing. “A spill. A man spill.” Steve was still frowning.

“Her mouth was involved,” Brock said. He stroked her hair--and then dodged as Darcy elbowed him.

“It was a masculine essence spill,” Darcy clarified. “In my hair.”

“Oh,” Steve said, moving backwards in surprise. “I really didn’t need to know that.”

“Sure, sure,” Brock said. “And she was very cool about it, so I never thought she’d be the jealous type.” Darcy glared at him. “That’s true, sweetheart, I thought you were cool,” he said.

“Why can’t I be jealous?” Darcy said, looking back at Brock.

“You’re so fantastic--” he began. Steve cleared his throat. They both looked at him.

“Just because she’s fantastic doesn’t mean she can’t have feelings,” Steve said. “Even intelligent, accomplished women have feelings.”

“We do,” Darcy said, nodding.

“But how can she feel that way when she knows how much I like her?” Brock wondered.

“Am I supposed to psychically realize you like me?” Darcy said.

“I kissed you on a mission, I rescued you from those steps--” Brock began.

“Peggy shot me,” Steve cut in. “She caught a woman kissing me and she shot at me.”

“She did?” Brock said.

“Where?” Darcy said.

“In my shield,” Steve said.

“Oh,” Darcy said.

“Doesn’t really count if there was no blood,” Brock said. He sat down behind Darcy, stepping over the bench to bracket her legs with his. “Tell her how everybody ragged me because I kissed her on a mission, Cap.”

“I did hear about that,” Steve said.

“You did?” Darcy said. Brock put his arms around her.

“People, uh, left him candy,” Steve said, looking supremely awkward.

“Candy?” Darcy said.

“Because they all know how I feel about you,” Brock said, nuzzling the side of her face. “I’m crazy about you, so they left Reese’s to torture me, the fu--sorry, Cap.”

“Oh,” Darcy said.

“We heard about the cooking, too,” a passing agent said. “How many firefighters did that take?” Steve grinned, then caught Darcy’s eye and winked.

“What are you doing next?” Steve said. “As a date, I mean?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy said, looking at Brock. “What are we doing?”

“I was thinking of taking you to a candy store,” Brock said.

“So,” Steve said carefully. “Is everything okay now?” He looked at them expectantly.

“Whaddya say? Are we good?” Brock said.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “Also, it’s a yes on the candy store.”

“We can go now,” Brock said.

“What about work?” Darcy said.

“Will Jane miss you?” Brock said. Darcy shrugged.

“If we’re back within a hour or so, probably not,” she admitted.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Steve said.

“Thanks, Cap,” Brock said.

“Really,” Darcy said, “you’re great at this, Steve.” She waved happily as they walked out.

The candy store had loud, cheery music. Darcy caught Brock wincing. “You okay?” she asked.

“I’ll live,” he said. “Candy necklace?” He gestured to a bin.

“No, I like those big lollipops, though. And--ooooh, Red Hots!” she said. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her stomach. 

“Should I ask about edible underwear?” Brock joked.

“What is that even made of? I’ve always thought it looked like fruit roll ups,” Darcy whispered. He laughed. 

“We can find out,” he said.

“How?” Darcy wondered.

“Candy store, then sex store,” Brock said in a low voice. “But no rush.”

“I’m getting Jane some candy,” Darcy said, “in case she realizes that I’m actually gone.”

“Sure,” Brock said.

“You’re thinking about the sex store, aren’t you?” Darcy said.

“Yeah,” he said, smirking.

  
  


“Jane,” Darcy said, sailing into the lab with intentional breeziness. “Did you miss me? I got you M&Ms. And chocolate truffles.” She was carrying bags. She handed several off to Jane. “Here are your surprises.”

“Oh,” Jane said, looking up. “Thank you. I wondered where you went. I even called down to the coffee shop,” she was saying as she peered down into the bags. Darcy pulled a face.

“Brock wanted to get us some candy,” Darcy said. “So, I picked you out the blues that you think taste better--”

“And this?” Jane said, holding up a box and turning it around to see the clear window. Her eyebrows went up.

“Um, no,” Darcy said. “That vibrator is mine. Sorry. Wrong bag.”

-The End-

  
  



End file.
